Darkness, Heat, and Cold Part Deux
by CognacGirl-CG
Summary: Sequel to Sarkney fic with same title. Same concept, different scenario from a different POV. Still S/S.


**Title: **Darkness, Heat, and Cold – Part Deux  
**Author: **CG   
**Feedback: **Always welcome. If criticism, please make it constructive.  
**Disclaimer: **Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.   
**Summary:** Sequel to 'Darkness, Heat, and Cold'. You don't necessarily need to read Part One to follow this, but there's a link to it in my profile in case you're interested. Same concept as its predecessor, but a different scenario from a different POV. Set after 'The Telling'.  
**Rating: **Hard R   
**Classification: **Pointless near smut really.   
**Distribution: **Cover Me, Dark Enigma, Sarkgasm, Surrender, all others please ask. 

Darkness

It shrouded nearly any form in the familiar room just as his black sateen jacquard sheets obstructed the view of the expanse of body between his hips and mid-thigh. The dark never had much of an affect on him, especially when he was in this room. No fear. He was comfortable, home. Surrounded by every luxury he had accumulated over the years. 

Even with the lack of lighting he knew what lay where–pale maple nightstand inches away from the head of the bed, five paces forward was its matching armoire, three steps to the right found the door to the darkened hallway. A door that usually remained open as he slept, for precautionary measures, but not tonight.  

Definitely not tonight. He wet his lips, which had become unusually dry, not even bothering to mask his eagerness. 

On a night where he'd normally be off in some foreign country, executing meticulously detailed plans for whomever offered to pay him the right amount, Sark found himself safely within the confines of his bedroom. 

Safe. He knew even thinking that word was a bad omen, something he'd likely regret, but for once in his life he allowed himself to believe it. There had been no issues with intrusions. No government agencies, no rogue agents or assassins on his tail. Not for months now. His recent update of the security in his villa gave him the confidence he needed. So the view he had of the main entrance to his room, a rarely closed door, didn't trouble him in the least. 

Especially considering that tonight he had an extra mind, an extra pair of arms, an extra set of legs… 

He spotted movement in the room. Slow, quiet, deliberately sensual. The silhouette was slightly darker than the room's natural shadows. He could almost see the outline of curves–shoulders, waist, hips–and a gait full of unwavering confidence. Both were the essence of her. Both were very, very feminine. 

She paused. He stopped breathing. She caught him off guard by her sudden stillness, stopping just five feet down diagonally from his relaxed body on the bed. Her arm twitched gracefully in the darkness, followed by a quick crackling snap and a sluggish whir of air. 

Heat

A light, faint but apparent in the blackness, illuminated the right side of her face. She was exquisite. He didn't need to look at her to come to that conclusion, didn't want to. He knew fully what beauty was shown in even that small amount of light. Chestnut hair, sparkling brown eyes, perfectly plump pink lips. He'd known for years before tonight, in dreams and reality. Some of the details permanently etched in his mind. 

His focus was entirely on her steady hand and its descent to the wick of the candle she was holding. His mind started running, hoping to calculate her next move. It had always been one of his best skills. Then again, if he remembered correctly, his track record seemed to take a turn for the worse whenever she was involved. 

He held his breath starting when she struck the match to light it. As the wick was lit and the wax began to heat, he could feel his stomach clench and the breath he was holding slowly release. The match claimed dominance and the flame on the small stick soon withered back to nothing, leaving the candle lit and the match disintegrated. He chuckled inside, always enjoying a good bit of symbolism. 

She had declared dominance tonight and he fully intended to comply, waiting for his chance to ignite and then fade back to watch her candle burn. 

A few more steps and she reached the bed, allowing him a better view of her. In all of the times he'd seen her, or the times he'd worked with her, he always imagined her looking this way. Smooth, tight legs that seemed to have no end, low riding, thin white cotton string bikini underwear that curved perfectly against the area he longed to touch, an equally see through white cotton tank that hit barely above her navel. She looked angelic, her virtue only slightly compromised by the sight of her taut nipples peeking through. He felt himself her opposite clothed in his black silk boxers and draped with his dark sheets. Even his decency was completely blown out of the water by the raging hard-on that nearly tented the sheet across his lap. 

She stepped closer, slowly kneeling on the mattress with one knee, then following with the other. _So close. _His fingers twitched, craving just one touch of the flesh he could only imagine would feel like creamy butter under his fingers, but he refrained. It took more effort than it had to plan the infiltration of a secured building, but he did it, his fingers curling instead into the sheet below him. With her in control he knew one wrong move could, no _would_ end this charade. And he didn't want that in the least. 

No sir. 

He watched her swing one leg over his, his sight moving from the limber movement up to her eyes, seeing a flicker of desire sparkling in them that was similar to the dance of the heated candle. She kept her eyes on him as she started bending forward, mischief tangling with the need he noticed moments before. Slowly, _oh-so-slowly_, the candle tipped forward. As her upper body loomed over his, he felt the burn. 

Hot, thick, sticky. 

Barely arching his back he groaned, part pain but mostly pleasure, although the line between the two was so blurred. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, reveling in the sensation. Too soon the wax hardened on his chest, almost as fast as he did when she stepped into the room. Then it happened again, lower, skin tightening under the molten wax. His stomach quivered eagerly with each drop that splattered on his nakedness. Excitement that was suddenly enhanced as her fingertips grazed the elastic of his boxers while she removed the black cover from around his body. Three hundred dollar sheets just thrown carelessly aside, settling on the hardwood floor. If asked at that moment, he couldn't think of a better place for them. 

He lay there, unmoving now, watching her face contort into mock surprise. As she brought her free hand up to cover her slightly parted mouth, Sark looked down finding wax beaded on his boxers, rolling down to stain the sateen below. He let out a large whoosh of air, a breath he'd been holding for lord knows how long, when her hands reached his hips, jerking the stained material down his body and adding them to the dark pile on the floor.  

Cold

Her body still hovered over him, right now her breast inches away from his lips. He bit his tongue to hold back from flicking it over her hard nipple, or more to keep his mouth from devouring the entire mound. He was so hot for her. Every thought he had began to center around fucking her senseless, or at bare minimum ending this torture and giving himself some long overdue relief. She lingered for too long there as she placed the candle on his nightstand. _Too damn long. _

"Sydney…" he warned, growling futilely into the cotton of her top. _Just one taste._

She pulled back faster than he expected, mild disdain on her face. _Naughty boy, _she seemed to be saying with her eyes. And he knew it. Knew he'd done the wrong thing even after warning himself. He looked at her with the closest thing to submissive eyes as he could. _What I've been reduced to. _It was humiliating, but he couldn't bear for her to stop now. 

His body calmed, relieved as she bent over the side of the bed, reaching to the floor and coming back up to face him. Watching his every move, or lack thereof, she carefully tore the white plastic package apart. Her lips curved seductively as she unsheathed the cool, long red stick.   

She sat on his knees, the contact of their skin adding to the swelter brought on by the hot night and her presence. All he could do was stare through eyes that were as heavy lidded as hers. Gaze shifting from the cherry Popsicle to her mouth, her lips slightly parted just waiting for a taste. 

_Goddamn. _

His hips bucked involuntarily as her lips covered the tip of the flavored ice, leaving kisses that would be better placed elsewhere. His breathing ran ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. All attempts at calming himself died as she slowly slid the long tube of ice in her warm mouth. Once buried to the hilt she brought it back out, languorously sucking the entire way. 

Sark couldn't keep back the groan her movements produced. It was either release or suffocate. The noise interrupted her mid stroke, her head tilting to the side. He could only imagine what she thought at that very moment. 

Or so he thought. 

Her free hand smoothed up his hip, his stomach, stopping over his rib. The see through cotton was so tempting; his hands ached as they dug at his sides. Torture. Holding the ice still in the other, she touched the red tip to his dry lips. He didn't dare move without her word. 

"Sark," she whispered in a voice thickly coated with everything he felt at that moment. "I want you to show me."

He wanted to cry, shout, scream in jubilation. The torment could be the best part, mastered foreplay just like she'd performed, but the throbbing in his dick was so agonizing that he could have almost buried it anywhere.  

Keeping his hands out of reach, Sark allowed her to slip the Popsicle in his open mouth, his tongue swirling around the thin ice. And fuck yes! Seconds after his demonstration her cold lips and tongue found his ache, mirroring his moves. 

"Sydney!" Sark yelped breathlessly, his hips writhing each time she mimicked him. 

His moans echoed in the expansive room, muffled by the ice being shoved in and out of his mouth. Lick for lick, stroke for stroke, all with precise and titillating movements, he led and she followed. A spin on the night he would have never predicted. 

He needed to… 

Oh God he was going to…

His eyes rolled back into his head once more as he neared something explosive. The ache in his groin twisted, tied, kept grinding, wanting immediate relief. Her lips, her moist hot mouth. It was too much. She was too much. But he'd never want anything less after this. 

"You've got to be kidding me."

_Huh?_

Sark looked up to find her, but everything shattered into a pale yellow. Yellow… office ceiling tile… rigid cheap cotton sheets against his back… earthy orange walls… reality slammed back full force. All courtesy of the CIA. His eyes followed the sound of the voice he heard moments before and found her. 

But it wasn't _her_. 

No. Professional black suit, high neck shirt underneath covering the perfection he swore was there, a look of utter disgust on her face. All of that, so different, but yet the strain against the fly of his cotton pants grew even more painful. 

Did he mention something about 'senseless' before? Try 'her brain out'.

"Agent Bristow," Sark cleared his throat, nearly squeaking her name. He sat up in his cot, his blanket thankfully covering the proof of his distress. 

One of her eyebrows rose, eyeing him eerily as close as she did in his dream. Sydney thrust a file folder and a set of surveillance photos at him, dropping them on his lap. 

"As I started to say before, Sark. I want you to show me your interpretation of this." She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for a response. 

Sark sighed, glancing at the information before him. The woman who was now in his cell would be such a better fit as she was in his dream. Sexually in control. Demanding his compliance in bed on occasion. Now that was a type of persistence more to his liking. 

He thumbed the paperwork before meeting her eye. "I'll need some time." His bravado returned, voice sturdy as ever. Although his mind and certain other parts of his anatomy would need more time to recover. With his dismissal, Sydney walked to the door of his cell, stopping just inside. She turned abruptly, arms still covering her front, eyes showing an interest that wasn't there prior. 

"I'm curious," she mused aloud, voice for his ears only. "What made me change from Sydney to Agent Bristow within less than a minutes time?"

Flashes of exposed skin, roaming hands, masterful lips and tongue teased him again. His throat was suddenly parched. Chuckling, he shook the thought out. She tilted her head to the side, _so like when she slid that ice out of her mouth…_ and just like then he wondered what she was thinking. 

He had pushed her out of his thoughts long ago, and thought he was safe. But with her showing up after two years of being listed as missing, he couldn't stop her from getting under his skin again or haunting his dreams. That woman who had been on top of him was so different than the one before him. _Yet equally, if not more arousing,_ he declared. 

Sark smirked, unable to even answer the question. Agent Bristow or Sydney, they both would have gotten the same reaction out of his sex deprived body. 

"I think the more pressing question is what made you change from Agent Bristow to Sydney in the first place."

She froze, appearing not even to breathe, and remained standing mere feet inside his room. Her only movement was her eyes, scanning the length of his body on the cot. Not distressed by his innuendo, not uncomfortable with the fact he'd been practically screaming her name earlier, but contemplating. 

_Contemplating?_

Sark's brows shot up right as Sydney turned on her heel to leave the room without uttering another word. He watched her secure his door and retreat down the hallway to the gate. As she waited for the first row of bars to rise he found her looking straight at him again, a smug smile on her face.  


End file.
